Downfall and Redeption
by Uchiha Yumi
Summary: How much can sorrow taint an unhappy soul? Can love fill an empty heart? [OneShot, HitsuHina, WAFF, Angst]


**Author:** Uchiha Yumi

**Title:** Downfall and redemption

**Genre:** Angst, Romance, WAFF

**Summary: **How much can sorrow taint an unhappy soul? Can love fill an empty heart? One-Shot, HitsuHina, WAFF, Angst

**Rating:** R

**Parings**: Hitsugaya x Hinamori

**Main Characters: **Hinamori Momo, Hitsugaya Toshirou

**Special thanks:** A special thank to Lilya-chan and FunnyNeko, for reading and correcting all of my nasty stuff.

**Disclaimer:** does it look like I own them? Seriously, it does?

**Notes:** English is not my native tongue. Please tell me about my mistakes!

I'm not good at writing about Bleach.

And this is the fluffiest thing I ever wrote…O.O

**DOWNFALL AND REDEMPTION**

He let her hair down.

Why did he do such a thing? Why did he indulge in such an irrational act?

It wasn't like him. He would never believe an illogical choice would suddenly set things right as if nothing ever happened and life was a nice fairy tale with a predictable happy ending.

And, as cynical as it might sound on a mere adolescent's lips, he knew it perfectly. Life was unfair, painful, cruel and whatever bad adjective you felt like labelling it with.

Hitsugaya Toushiro had learnt it on his own skin, that was. Becoming a Taichou-ranked shinigami when the boys your age are still trying to learn how to wield a sword was sure a hard responsibility – hard enough to earn him the appellative of "tensai", a genius.

Not that he ever cared too much about what the others called him – his skills, probably, weren't that exceptional either, in the end. Maybe the only, real uncommon thing in his behaviour was his innate aloofness and, to a certain extent, a reliable quantity of common sense which had allowed him to figure out how the game worked a good 50 years before the others.

He just had to grasp the concept he couldn't change the facts. Or, at least, not with just that.

A long cascade of wavy locks fell down on her pale shoulders and partially covered the silky blindfold on her eyes, stealing a strangled gasp from her delicate lips.

"Sh…Shirou-chan…" she barely murmured, her whole body tugging slightly against the velvety strands gracefully but firmly holding her hands above her head and against the headboard of the bed.

How many times did he tell her she should refer to him as "Hitsugaya-taichou"? Countless. But, no matter what, Hinamori Momo would always just smile and keep on calling him as she wished as if he was asking her that small favour for a sort of "sense of self-celebration" or to show off his social position. Was it so hard to get he was doing that just for her? He didn't want her to be so social and kind and …woundable. He didn't want her to get hurt.

If she trusted him so much, what would have been if she came to rely her faith on someone else, with bad intentions? There wouldn't be him around her forever. And there wouldn't be Abarai-san either, or Izuru-san or…Aizen-taichou.

And facts proved him right, in the end, and when the person she worshipped the most turned out to be the worst of dangers for her sake, she was alone. Alone with herself and thrown down in dirt and darkness, her wings and pureness ripped to shreds by the awfulness of a selfish man.

He bent down and laid a kiss on her jaw, slowly, deeply inhaling her scent. As his lips trailed down her throat, his hands came up to her cheeks and tangled them in her soft locks, curling her silky hair around his slender fingers, shivering with every new, delicate whirl. He needed to touch her. He needed to sink his flesh in that softness and see she was alive, safe and sound. He needed to prove himself that things didn't change with her. That she was still…herself?

His body shivered again. How much of you own soul could spill out of your body together with your blood when you are pierced by your own Captain? How many of your hopes are gone forever when the illusive reality reveals herself in her most horrible form?

When his hands moved down again to tenderly cup her breasts, Momo hissed out a long breath and tugged again at the cloth, her back arching and quivering slightly, as sensually and suggestively as a small wave in the width of the blue ocean, hinting him to give her more, to completely fulfil the mission he had loaded himself with.

Her skin was heated – or maybe it was his mouth to be as icy as his sword, her soft mounds of flesh smoothly flowing under the merciless touch of his tongue and lips, her breath itching up with every movement.

"Shirou-chan…why….? Shirou-chan…?"

Hitsugaya-taichou sadly closed his eyes as the eased one of her nipples in his hot, wet cavern, softly and tenderly pulling her flesh making her words lose in long moan.

He would have replied it was because he loved her and she loved him, he would have said he just wanted to comfort her and make her feel alright and protected and that it was nice to touch a woman like that for the first time in his life – confident it was the first time for her as well.

But it wasn't what Momo meant, he was sure. He would swear he could read it in the sadness and vagueness of her eyes, if it wasn't for the dark cloth covering them. – but he didn't dare to find out.

He didn't want to look into her deep, somewhat empty irises. He didn't want to see how drawn and shattered her soul was.

Her body was there but were was her mind? Was it flying away to chase again the vane illusions about everything being just a mistake? Was it lost forever since that hideous day?

No, it couldn't be. It couldn't be his Momo, the one he always did his best to protect, the one giving a meaning to all his strives. It just couldn't make sense, she was a beautiful and delicate flower, far from everything bad or low or cruel. But, sadly enough, flowers didn't have a soul. Flowers didn't think, didn't suffer, didn't make regretful choices. Their only duty was to shine for all their beauty was worth and for as long as their nature allowed. Then, they simply died, their petals falling off in a desperate attempt to escape their inevitable fate.

Was she simply dying, then? Would her soul float far and far away until nothing's left?

He had always thought men shouldn't cry, but, this time, he had to bury his face in her bare bosom to bite back the onslaught of tears. As his mind showed him the image of a white, withering rose, his mouth attacked her stomach, every wet, hot kiss meant to catch her falling petals, to stop time and keep her like that forever, in his arms.

She screamed, this time, her body violently shaking again and leaning into that friendly but cruel touch. She was trusting him. Once again, she was giving all of herself in the hands of another person. She didn't object when he invited her in his private quarters. She didn't protest when he locked the door of his bedroom and pushed her down on the mattress. She didn't struggle when light was taken from her eyes and her hands were blocked above her head, nor when his skilled touch left her bare and exposed in front on his lustful eyes.

Why did she have to be like that? Why couldn't she be more wary, diffident?

Maybe if she had been less confident, less gentle…maybe if she hadn't been like that…

But life wasn't made of "maybe". Life was what he was doing there and then, life was the skin he was biting, the lumps of flesh he was sucking on, life was her flavour intoxicating his soul and her pleasured moans numbing his senses.

His ministrations dangerously neared her inner core and he kissed and licked his way to the most awaited prize, his fists clenched around the soft sheets not to give in to tears, all of his rage and frustration and sense of guilt concentrated in that sole, desperate action.

Hinamori Momo cried out again and delightfully arched her back, her slender legs quivering just the slightest bit. The delicate rustle of her tiny wrists vainly struggling against the smooth cloth, underlined each slick motion of his tongue inside of her, muffled gasps parting from her rosy lips every time he went deeper.

"Shirou-chan…"

Her voice resounded again, and it was like a blade cutting through his chest. That strangled tone, the way she murmured every syllable, it was like catching a tear trickling down her cheeks. And he didn't want to see her cry. Not again. He had thought back then, that if every tear she spilled was a pearl, he could have used them to put together a necklace or lay them through her silky hair and see them shine reflecting her beauty. But, more than pearls, they were drops of herself pouring away, each one seeming to delete forever a small but vital piece of what she used to be. And you can't recollect tears, as you can't recollect water when it rains. That's plain rationality.

But, when it came to that little, brown-haired girl - Hitsugaya Toushiro came to learn – rationality could pack off and leave for a long vacation.

Why did he put that stupid barrier strong enough to protect her from outside intruders, but not to keep her still in that hospital room? He knew she would leave. Though he had been "genial" enough to fool around even himself. Truth was that he didn't feel like trapping her in. He didn't dare to.

Would you trap a white dove in a small cage? Probably not, you wouldn't.

But, because of her reckless actions, that dove had ended up with her wings broken and heart bleeding and though he was now moaning with her taste in his mouth, it was still fairly impossible for him to forgive himself. Let alone to forget what happened.

So, in that shattered panorama of guilty memories and blurry fragments of present, every word, every single letter rolling down her lips was like liquid fire taunting some old scar or opening a new, painful, wound.

He kissed his way upwards once again, his lips meeting the frantic movement of her bosom as she desperately sucked for air. Gawd, she was so beautiful, with the eerie shine of the moonlight caressing her sweaty skin, with her soft hair scattered all over the pillow. He was terribly attracted to her and afraid to spoil her at once. A rush of desire flooded in his veins and ran down his veins and he leaned to kiss her forehead, then her blindfolded eyelids and then her burning lips, the kiss not being returned though.

Was he laying with her or with her ghost? Was that the Momo who treated him as a younger brother when they were little?

Tears knocked once again at his closed eyelids and he bent his knee to make room for his waist between her slightly parted legs. She moaned and hesitantly adjusted to his motion, the cloth holding her still rustling again as she tugged. Hitsugaya-taichou wondered for a moment if she knew what was coming next, now that he couldn't take it anymore and all he wanted was to be inside of her, to fill that now hollow soul with his warmth and flesh.

How silly he was being. Thinking again about flesh and souls when he perfectly knew they were shinigami, pure spirits made of reiatsu. Once again, his rationality was on a long trip.

Of course it was. Would he be trying to make love to the most precious girl in his life, otherwise?

His hands reaches her thighs and stroked, tenderly but steadily spreading them all the way open for him. Hinamori-san didn't complain or struggle, her body being moved and arranged as if she was a flexible china-doll. As he moved on top of her, he captured her lips again as if his own mouth could breathe life into that dull limbs. She gasped and swallowed hard in some sort of unaware anticipation, her toes hooking around the silky blankets.

Toushiro would have liked to say something, to talk to her in that crucial moments, to tell the canon words every lover would say to his girlfriend: "It will hurt, but I'm here for you", "I love you, I'll do my best to make you happy".

But could he _really_ make her happy? Could he erase all that grief? No, he simply couldn't. And he was seriously doubting that would have made her suffer too. She had already been crying so much for other reasons she wouldn't even notice what he was doing to her. And if she would scream, it wouldn't be him what she'd be thinking about.

He just plunged into her with a steady movement, his face buried in her neck, delicately nibbling on that soft lump of flesh. She didn't cry out, nor cringe. Her body just jerked upwards the slightest bit as a faint whimper resounded in the air. Then, it all went silent.

Silent at the night they were running through, silent as the shallow heartbeats of a cold, distant soul. silent as the sorrow drenching the room.

He deeply inhaled in her scent, his eyes closing, that wonderful fragrance of violet seeping deep inside of his most private core and…What was that warm, wet thing trickling on his cheek?

She…was she crying? He lifted his head and looked at her. Tiny, silvery paths were running down her flushed skin, flowing down from the smooth blindfold like rain falling from the sky.

Wonderful. He had sworn to himself not to make her cry again, and there he was, looking at other drops of her pouring out of an already drained soul.

"I…I'm sorry…"

Words left his lips before he could even realize it. But, truth was that he meant that. He was really sorry. Sorry for being always late, sorry for not managing to protect her enough when she needed it, sorry for making love to her like that, recklessly, stupidly.

His hips picked up and thrust in again, and again and again, trying to bury himself deeper any time, trying to reach her core and melt in her wetness, as if it could wash away his mistakes, or wake her up, or…he didn't even know what else. All he knew was that, every time he pulled away even for a mere second, all he longed for was pushing back in.

Her body was writhing beneath him, those frail wrists struggling again against the cloth and tugging hard, her back rhythmically arching off the bed.

Was she reacting to him? Was she liking it? Was she…?

"Shirou-chan, oh….Please, I…."

Her voice was strangled, quivering with every letter. She swallowed hard and opened her mouth, the tip of her tongue hesitantly licking her own lips.

He gave a small bite to her neck, his hips still rhythmically rolling against her and into her depth. He wouldn't last much longer, he knew that. He might be called a "Tensai", but still, the first time – especially _that_ first time – was tiring for everyone. He groaned and nuzzled her skin again, a long shiver shaking his sweat-slick body.

When he could feel waves of blood almost migrating to his lower body and the heat became unbearable, signalling the heavenly moment of his release was close, a worm of doubt started wriggling in his mind.

Was it really safe to come inside of her? Could she afford such a thing, as frail and delicate as she actually was? He didn't want her to hurt even more. He truly, really didn't want.

A rush of sorrow squeezed his heart and he started to pull back, slowly and still a bit reluctantly,. He would finish himself off later, with his fingers, far away from her trembling body, her wet cheeks, her rosy lips.

But, on his way out, something sweaty and tiny blocked him, holding him still and motioning him forwards and into her again.

"Shirou-chan… Oh … no, please…don't …"

She had wrapped her legs around him, timidly but steadily pulling him closer. Hitsugaya Toushiro froze for an instant, his mind trying to catch that gesture, to understand if it was true or, in a sort of bitter trick of his senses, he was just imagining all.

When his hands slid down and caressed her clamped thighs, however, his sensations were confirmed. His strained body shook again and she whimpered softly, the sorrow in her tone fading and blending to pleasure. He couldn't take it any longer. Every single sound parting from her lips brought him closer and closer to the edge, until he fell down, spiralling until he release all of himself inside of her body, slow and throaty growls joining her moans when he collapsed on top of her beautifully shaped form.

Hitsugaya Tooushiro's hand shakily reached up and freed her wrists. She didn't reach her orgasm and it was fairly obvious to him – in the end, he didn't even expect her to.

But, as soon as the smooth cloth holding her up was loosened, Hinamori Momo sat up, her long, untied locks brushing against his slick skin. He gasped a little, partially because of that truly unpredicted action – and partially because of the wonderful feeling it was causing him.

She hugged him tightly, her round breasts pressing against his cheeks in a motherly but sensual gesture.

Words stuck in his throat, Hitsugaya-taichou couldn't manage to talk for a long while, his adolescent body simply enjoying the contact of another bare body against his.

He looked up at her.

"Hinamori, I…"

She shook her head and motioned him to hush. Blindfold still tight around her head, she bent down and blindly kissed his forehead.

And the world really seemed to fade to his eyes when three simple words resounded in the room.

Was it what he was trying to reach? Was that the answer he was looking for, the hope he had clutched onto?

As far as he cared in that moment – and he didn't even mind the vulgar expression – the world could fuck off back and forth and then back again and go to pieces. He closed his eyes and smiled, laying his head against her shoulder as he slowly fell into the depths of dreams.

"Shirou-chan…I….I love you…"

_o-O-o OWARI o-O-o_


End file.
